T’was the day before Christmas, but there was no cheer.
No jingle bells jingled, no sound of reindeer.

The word had gone out that Santa was sick.
There would be no visit from jolly St. Nick.

The people were sad; no happiness sounded.
For Christmas had come, but Santa was grounded.

He walked down the street, and what should he see?
On a sign was printed Dr. Jeffrey Stinson , D.C.

Now, Santa was not one to like a new tactic,
But all else had failed, so he’d try Chiropractic.

In a very short time, to judge by the clock,
He was in the adjusting room, talking to Doc.

“It must be the hurry, the tension and all,
I simply can’t seem to get on the ball.
Life used to be easy; just kids, toys and whistles,
Now I dodge fall-out, spaceships and missiles.”

“And Doc, take a look at the size of this pack!
Have you any idea what it does to my back?”
Poor Santa was miserable, just barely able,
With the help of the doctor, to get on the table.

The Doctor was gentle; without a fuss or tussle
He examined the vertebrae and relaxed the muscles.
He spotted trouble and then with a click,
Started aligning the ailing St. Nick.

And Santa felt aches and pains slipping away.
In no time at all he began to feeling great.
His cheeks were rosy with new found glow,
And a healthy Kris Kringle was rarin’ to go.

As he went out the door, he threw the receptionist a kiss;
Why, it had been centuries since he felt good as this!
Then once more he shouldered the bag full of toys,
His heart overflowing with true Christmas joys.